


From my Point of View, You're the One in Chains

by Glacecakes



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Sex, Andrew | Hubert Being an Asshole (Disney: Tangled), Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Graphic Description of Rape/Non-con, Grooming, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Past Rape/Non-con, Pedophilia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quirin Tries (Disney), Rape Aftermath, That Feels Like An Understatement, Underage Rape/Non-con, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Varian Has PTSD (Disney)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28884552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glacecakes/pseuds/Glacecakes
Summary: [READ THE TAGS]Quirin, newly freed from the amber, has noticed some concerning changes in his son. He doesn't know what to do, or how to fix it, but by god will he try. A trip to the castle reveals a dark secret kept chained below, and he intends to slay the beast.Andrew knows he won't survive the night. But he plans to drag Quirin down to hell with him.
Relationships: Andrew | Hubert & Varian (Disney: Tangled), Andrew | Hubert/Varian (Disney: Tangled), Quirin & Varian (Disney)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 89





	From my Point of View, You're the One in Chains

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU READ THE PIECE. This fic contains graphic descriptions of past rape. I am an adult, I have tagged this heavily and thoroughly. It is up to you to curate your experience on AO3, so if any of the tags upset you, do not read this piece. None of the actions described in this piece are condoned by the author. You have been warned. 
> 
> This has been in my head for a while, or at least the basic concept of "Quirin killing Andrew for hurting his son". I wanted to try something darker, as well as a different writing style, and I'm actually really fucking proud of this fic. A lot of research went into this, like hours and hours of scientific articles, so that was fun. A massive thanks to my beta for helping me with this. We all heard the cellmate line in RR, we all cringed at the implications, here they are.

High security is a hell inside another hell. It is darkness, it is madness, it is where the worst of humanity lingers and festers. The claws of insanity plung deep into the very bones of all who step foot in here, be it guard or prisoner, shredding their insides and leaving nothing but the powerful and the shells. The masters and slaves. There is no law down there, only the law of desires. Hunger, thirst, bloodlust… regular lust. Those who felt no remorse for their actions indulge in depravity, revel in the darkness that surrounds them and manifests in their souls. And those who were regretful, those who still maintained sanity in these haunted corridors… they never last. Either withering away from despair, or at the hands of a cellmate or guard they bleed their humanity along with blood, sweat, and tears. 

It’s during a new moon, late at night that Quirin steps into this depraved, barren corridor. Today had been his first visit to the palace since he’d been freed from his own prison, one of silence, freezing and empty as his eyes at this very moment. Nothing like what he is now in. No one knew he was here, not the king, not the princess, not his son. Not like anyone could stop him, what with his sword scraping the stone floor, warning all who dared to pass by that he is not a man to be trifled with. His oath to a mad king had long been dormant, unused, and his oath to his current king now burnt to a crisp. 

It started smoking when he’d been set free, when his darling son had hugged him with arms weak and stick thin. It’d caught fire and burned slowly, over a few weeks, but earlier today… that was when it was left in nothing but ashes. 

* * *

Varian had been showing signs that something was wrong since the moment they reunited. 

After he recounted his tale, fraught with terror and despair and depression, he’d retired to bed. Quirin wept silently at their kitchen table, mourning the childhood his son lost due to his own mistakes. If only he had told Varian about his past, about where they came from, his boy wouldn’t have done what he did. Perhaps if he’d known about the Dark Kingdom, he’d simply joined the princess on her quest. But alas, his precious Varian hadn’t known. He’d been chased, villainized, forced to starve and steal to survive, surrounded by nothing but corpses and the weapons that killed them, the tomb of his father his only human company. He’d been driven to near madness, and then, when promised “help”, thrown here, into the outstretched arms of the devil, ready to drag him into the fires of hell. Varian had been shackled to the underworld, exposed to the worst of the worst, nearly killed. His darling prince, the light of his life, the boy he had rocked to sleep, had kissed away injuries and ruffled hair, had carried on his back when Varian fell asleep in the fields, now a shell, broken, scared of the world and all its cruelties. 

And he’d started to scream.

Quirin burst into Varian’s room late that night, when the moon was waning, to find the alchemist thrashing in his sheets. 

“No!” He shrieked, tears falling faster than what should’ve been possible. “Let me go! I don’t want this! Please, stop him! Help me!” His cries were so loud Quirin feared he’d never speak again, that he’d ruptured his vocal chords. He thrashed violently in his bed, legs akimbo and flailing in every way, so much so Quirin had to dodge a few kicks to round the bed. But when Quirin shook him awake, when he’d tried to hold his son close like he had as a baby, Varian shied away. He’d hid from his touch, from his _father’s embrace_ , something that he’d craved so much. 

He refused to talk about it. For the rest of the night Quirin sat across from him, trying in vain to get his son to speak, to come closer, to accept _comfort_ and _security_. But Varian’s eyes had glazed over. The eyes he shared with his mother, just like hers, devoid of life as if he was as dead as she…

And that had only been the first night.

Come morning, Varian tried to act like nothing was wrong, except for the fact that he refused to go anywhere near the basement lab he loved so much. Quirin tried to shrug it off, to convince himself Varian was simply overwhelmed. That lab had been a major source of trauma, it was only natural that Varian didn’t want to go down there. But the weeks dragged on, and not once did Quirin ever hear the telltale sound of explosions, or the laughter of a success, not even the faint churning of chemicals that pervaded the house like white noise.

He’d only spiraled from there. Varian seldom left the house unprompted, instead choosing to spend most of his time drawing plans that would end up tossed or torn, whispers of ideas that faded as he struggled to focus on anything. 

By the end of every day, inevitably, Quirin would come to get Varian for dinner, only to find him in some state. Some days it was aggression. He’d snap at his father to leave, to never come back, he was doing fine without him before, he didn’t need the man breathing down his back! But other days, the anger and stinging words would fade, their cuts to his soul were rapidly bandaged by Varian sobbing profusely, begging for Quirin to stay, to never leave him alone. He’d sob into Quirin’s shirt, jumping if the man dared to try and hug back. Sometimes after the startle he’d melt into the touch, but other days it would trigger an anxiety attack, ending with a teen hiding under his work table, trying to shut out the world with angry clawing at his skin and hair. 

“Shhh, baby boy,” Quirin would say, sitting across from his son. How he longed to reach out, to cradle him in his arms and rock him to sleep the way he did when Varian could fit into one of his hands. He’d loved how small his son was, once upon a time. How easily he could lift Varian into his arms and carry him to bed. But now, as his son choked on wheezing breaths and curled into a ball, he hated it. 

How deplorable was he? A father who couldn’t comfort his own son, couldn’t save him from whatever darkness plagued him every second, trapped him in a cage of endless torment. If only there was a simple key, or a lock to pick, that could set his son free, let him spread his wings once more. Let him take joy in his life, in alchemy, in the world. Instead, he locked himself away, a songbird cutting out his own vocal chords before he ever debuted his song. 

He didn’t find out what had caused this until today. 

* * *

Finally, a spark of hope for his precious treasure had come in the form of the princess. She’d tasked Varian with restoring her parents’ memories, as well as creating tools to protect the kingdom from the wielder of the moonstone. Normally Varian would’ve jumped at the opportunity. Working to solve a problem, not just any problem, but the kingdom’s largest? It was past Varian’s one and only desire. 

But this Varian had simply sighed, and packed his lab equipment. 

“I really don’t want to go into the capital,” he’d bemoaned. 

Quirin frowned, concerned. “Why?” he asked.

“The crowds… lots of strangers… it’s just dangerous.” Varian shrugged, gazing down at the pavement. His eyes clouded over in fear, and his fists clenched his pack so tight he nearly broke the straps. 

That was a lie and they both knew it. Frederick had been damn well sure Corona was one of the safest places to be, if not too safe. One could never be too careful to not get hounded by guards, after all.

Quirin may not be the smartest man, but he was definitely perceptive, especially regarding the recent turn of his son. “Would you like me to come with?”

“No no!” Varian’s gaze jumped up, cheeks flushed red. He waved his hands wildly; in any other scenario it was almost as if Varian hadn’t changed at all. “I don’t want you to change your schedule for me! It’s nothing, really.”

“I need to speak to the princess anyway.” He lied, longing to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. But if he did, his poor son might keel over from a heart attack. 

The whole trip had been… tense. Varian was constantly looking over his shoulder, prepared fingers grasping tight to a vial of alchemy. Anytime Quirin ended up behind him, he’d jump and scream, only to relax when remembering who it was. 

Quirin took the lead after the first few times. 

Upon reaching the castle, Varian had been swept up by the princess, bright and cheerful as her powers. And Varian… relaxed easily. Gladly letting the princess hug him, even hugging back…! The pangs of jealousy gripped his heart and _squeezed_ , constricting his throat so hard for a moment he forgot how to breathe. 

It wasn’t fair. He’d been struggling day in and day out, tirelessly trying to save his son from the brink of despair, yet the precious sundrop was a ray of light that shooed away all clouds of darkness, freeing his son from torment if only for a brief while. 

“Quirin,” a calm, steady voice called behind him, and the man jolted out of his fear-laden stupor to see the Captain. The man’s grim face appeared to have aged years since he last saw the man. The two fathers shared quite a bit in common now, it seemed. Children with dark actions against the crown… he could only hope his fellow man’s child saw the light like Varian did. 

“Sir,” he sighed, watching his son disappear around the corridor. 

The Captain followed his gaze, eyes calculating, before turning to Quirin. His shoulders slumped so much, Atlas-like in haggardness, the weight of the world carried in his words. “How is he?” 

It was a shocking question, but in all honesty it made sense. Of course the Captain, bleeding heart as he was, would worry about a child not his own. Perhaps someone had been on Varian’s side during his worst days? Had this man defended his boy when he could not, or had he partaken in Frederick’s antics, letting pettiness and ugliness cloud his judgement? 

“...Better today,” Quirin finally said. The Captain’s eyes were pained.

“Which means he’s had bad days…” the weight of the world seemed to crush him, his posture crumbling even more so. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, tears that Quirin himself had cried himself out of.

“Quirin, I’m so sorry, by the time I knew what had happened, it was too late, they were already in power… I couldn’t even convince the king and queen, what with their brainwashing–”

“Found out… what?” His stomach plummeted like a stone, crashing into the earth below and cracking his foundations. The beast within him, one that had fallen into hibernation the moment his kingdom crumbled, rumbled in its sleep.

The Captain’s face turned a ghost white. “Did… did no one tell you…?” His words were like a whisper, barely audible, yet they stood out against the thundering in Quirin’s ears as blood rushed. “Your son, he was placed in high security with Andrew.”

“The Saporian, yes, Varian told me about him. Why?”

The Captain sighed, opened his mouth, and with one simple sentence Quirin’s world fell apart. The beast opened its eyes.

* * *

The sword, borrowed from the guard’s quarters, screeches in protest as it clung to cobble pavement. Dark eyes scan the cells, glaring at anyone who dares to look his way. Confusion, annoyance, it didn’t matter. None of them matter. They had all heard Varian’s screams, they had to have. And they let it happen. Some of them may have even cheered it on, or watched with delight.

He has no sympathy for their lost sleep.

Finally, at the end of the row, his vision turns red and the beast snarls. It gnashes at the cell bars, howling in rage as they stand firm, separating him from the one who did this, who hurt his boy, who caused so much agony to their little family. 

The bastard in question is reclining on his cell bed, arms acting as a pillow for his head. One leg is bent at the knee, foot on his cot. The other rests on top of his knee, foot twitching silently to a rhythm only its owner knows. The clattering of his sword stops at the entrance to his cell, its silence speaking louder than any of its previous noises, and they both know it. What it meant. 

He peeks over his knees, trying to figure out what guard is standing at his cell, what they want, though he falters at seeing Quirin’s hulking form obscuring all light, shrouding them in the same darkness as his mind. He sits up, confusion written all over his face.

“Can I… help you…?” Andrew asks, eyeing his sword. Perhaps he thinks Quirin is here to break him out. If that is the case, Quirin will gladly delight in snuffing out the hope in this man’s eyes, the same way he did to Varian.

The former knight’s jaw settles as he regards the Saporian. So this is him, the one who turned his boy from a ray of sunshine, the one thing that Quirin lived for now that his wife had passed and the Dark Kingdom abandoned, the one he had hurt while trying to desperately to protect from the ills of the world, into the frightened shell he is now. 

“Do you know who I am?” Quirin speaks out loud, his voice bouncing around the darkness. It’s deep, deeper than normal, his barely concealed rage causing a thunder in his throat. 

Andrew hums, resting his leg straight out and placing his arm on his still bent knee. After a moment, he shrugs, nonchalant. 

“Should I?”

He steps forward towards the bars, letting his full height speak for itself. He is a mountain, unwilling to let this bastard ever pass by him again, not after tonight. “Yes.” 

“Oh.” Unamused, Andrew stands up and makes his way over to the bars. He may not be intimidated, but Quirin will make him. This man, like his son, has seen the worst of humanity, has _been_ the worst of humanity. If no guard makes him tremble with fear, Quirin most certainly could not. But that isn’t important to him. He would not rest until his boy is safe from the likes of this scum. 

“I’ll bite,” Andrew grins, as if this is a simple dinner party conversation. “What’s your name, beefcake?”

He’s not sure why he does what comes next. Perhaps to make the end result easier? To install fear? To prove he means business while Andrew acts like the Prince up above, worthy of being laughed at, of the quips and being excused from past crimes? 

His hand shoots out faster than lighting, grabbing the man’s shirt. He pulls him so close their breaths are touching, mingling, _did this sick bastard ever do this to Varian, he probably did–_

“ _Oh_ ,” Andrew’s grin stretches so wide it must hurt, invisible claws pulling it upwards as his face nearly split into two, eyes alight with a dark glee. Quirin knows that look, he knows what it means, he knows who has seen it before. “You’re the fabled dad, aren’t you? I thought you died.”

He pushes against Quirin’s broad chest, separating them through the thick cell doors once more. With a huff, unruly strands of his hair are brushed back, and his bun readjusted. All the while, he never breaks eye contact, a show of power, of bravery. If Quirin didn’t loathe this man more than any other creature on earth, including the moonstone, he’d commend him. 

“Judging by the sword, you’re here to kill me, yeah?” Quirin says nothing, refuses to give the man an edge on him. He will not be swayed, will not be taunted. 

(Later that night, when he is cleaning the sword of blood and his own tears, he will lament that statement.) 

“I don’t blame you,” Andrew’s eyes are slits, a snake’s tongue sneaking its way between flesh-destroying teeth, a molten gaze trying to sizzle at the father’s soul. 

“But if you’re going to kill me without a trial… I’d like to make my final confession.” He leans in like a child sharing a playground secret. “ _Yes, I touched him._ ”

Blood rushes to Quirin’s ears, turning to steam as his anger rises into the heavens and down to hell, reaching to the lord for forgiveness and the devil for strength. 

Andrew’s grin is no longer feral, nor carnal, no, it is insane. It is lust-filled. It is... fond. 

Quirin wants to be sick. His sword-bearing hand’s knuckles are whiter than fresh snow, snow that his son was thrown out into, sending him down that path which ended here, in this very cell, with white leaking out of him as he sobbed openly onto the floor. 

Andrew steps back further into the cell, and it’s with a sinking heart Quirin understands his plight. The bastard has stepped far enough out of reach, so that his sword cannot penetrate, cannot end what is about to happen. They both know this will only end in Andrew’s death, he’s simply prolonging both of their sufferings. Or perhaps he’s torturing Quirin, the same way his boy was tortured, so violently, so horrifyingly… 

“Think about your words very carefully,” Quirin hisses, boring holes with his eyes as he stares down the monster before him. He is a knight, it is his job to slay dragons, especially those that dare try to hoard his family all to themselves. 

“Oh I have!” Andrew paces around the cell, hands clasped behind his back as he goes, circling around like a shark ready to bite the head of unsuspecting prey. “Trust me, I’ve thought about this _for a long while_.” 

“It started when he got thrown in here,” Andrew hums, and Quirin sees red. That sentence alone set his nerves alight, blazing through his muscles and sinews and leaving nothing but pure anger and ash in its wake. He slams on the cell bars so hard they rattle, but they do not give, despite the beast that howls in frustration as he claws at the air in an attempt to reach Andrew.

“Don’t you dare!” He barks. He knows what’s coming, and he’s powerless to stop it. Without a key, he cannot get in, and he cannot get a key without alerting a guard to his presence, which he had been avoiding. He only had one shot at this, and if Andrew stretched this out, he may never have that chance. 

Andrew merely takes another step back, slinking into the shadows where he belongs. 

“See, the guards were more willing to help me, since I’d been on… good behavior. And your son, well, he certainly wasn’t.” he laughs at his own joke despite Quirin’s cries of anger. 

“All I had to do was ask that he stay shackled, pretend I was scared. I doubt they bought it, but what did they care? No one cared about your precious boy except me. No one cares about him like I do.

“Beautiful, naive little Varian… he didn’t know what was happening at first, yknow. I grabbed him from behind, rode his shirt up… pushed him to the ground… when he realized though, oh man did he start screaming. So loud, so beautiful, I had to take matters into my own hands. Took his apron, tore off the string and tied it ‘round his mouth. The rest… you really ought to try it for yourself,” he cackles, ignoring how Quirin had taken to pounding on the cell bars. He’ll tear them apart, wreck his muscles and stain his skin with his own blood to silence the beast inside him, let it feast on the monster kept like a zoo animal. 

“His little sobs, his gasps through the gag, how he desperately tried to pry his hands apart. Oh, it was delicious. I always told him if he told the guards, they’d just do the same, and I was more than willing to share him. Told him I’d watch, let any guy who wanted to tear him to pieces. Kept him real nice and quiet. It was a lie of course, I’m _awfully_ possessive, but he didn’t know that. 

“He’d really hated me for the first few weeks, he’s got fire, I’ll give him that. But once he realized he was stuck, once he realized the things people would do to get their hands on him… that’s when he really blossomed, yknow? Anytime I wanted, he’d just _submit_. Let me run my hands over his body, let me bend him onto the ground and just pound him until he was filled with nothing but blood and _me_ . He was so tight, so _gorgeous_ ,” Andrew purrs, cheeks flushing with the memory. 

Quirin roars, slashing his sword down onto the lock to Andrew’s cage (but really, is he the prisoner here?). Sparks fly among the almighty screeches, beginning to slowly chip at the metal, no doubt alerting the guards of his location. But he no longer cares. He’ll give anything, his soul, his blood, his life, just to shut this man up and _kill him_. 

“And once we conquered Corona… it only got _better_. See, in the cell, all we had was his shackles and apron, and the guards eventually took the shackles. I used the other string to tie him up sometimes, but mmm, it wasn’t enough. But in the castle… in the castle, there’s so many _wonderful_ opportunities. 

“Whenever he wasn’t working on his science I fucked him. I tied him up in all sorts of positions, his legs, his arms, even stole a dog collar and chain at one point. Sometimes I’d tie him up and leave him there. Let him wait for me, let him know I was the only one who would save him. Any other guard or king or captain would just have their way with him. And he _trusted_ me. He trusted that I locked the door, that only I got to see him like this. Adorable. So perfect.

“And when I came back, he’d be a whimpering mess, he’d cry softly, and I’d lick his tears up, and kiss him roughly. And he’d just sit there and _take it_. Let me play with him, string him up, fuck his face. All while I’d stare into those pretty blue eyes of his. And I’d tell him that only _I_ could make him feel wanted. Only _I_ cared for him, only _I_ loved him. And it’s true.” He leans in. “He will always be mine. Even when I’m gone. I’ll be waiting for him in hell to continue our little game. And when you join us, you can play too.”

With one final, enraged shout, Quirin slashes his sword, finally ending the life of the lock, the one thing keeping Andrew alive. His entire body falls into a swing as he charges in, using all his strength, all his anger. Angry at the world, for taking his boy from him. Angry at Rapunzel, who saved him, and is the only one Varian trusts. Angry at the Captain, who’s incompetence allowed this to happen. Angry at Frederick, who threw Varian in jail in the first place.

Angry at Andrew.

Angry at himself. 

Blood spurts from Andrew’s neck, covering the father in seconds. Cell bars are splashed in red paint, filling the air with a metallic stench that Quirin is sadly used to. Even his blood is filthy, mostrous, destroying everything it touched, one last supernova of hate and chaos and evil as his soul spills from his body and is dragged down to the furthest pits of hell, where Quirin would one day follow and spend his eternity of torment ensuring Andrew’s is twice over. 

The body, no longer human, or maybe never was, slumps over. It twitches once, twice, and then lays still.

Quirin drops to his knees and screams. 

* * *

Varian finds out the next day. 

It was Rapunzel who suggested that the family from Old Corona spend the night. After working together all day it was too late for them to journey home, though both knight and princess knew that wasn’t true in the slightest. She wants him to work in the castle, in the same lab he’d worked in during his time with Andrew, and Quirin is prepared to put his foot down should his boy show a single sign of discomfort. Varian has been wary, and now that Quirin knows the truth he doesn’t blame him. How is he to work with the princess when the devil sleeps right beneath him, able to claw his way out of hell at a moment’s notice and renew his torment? 

Good thing he didn’t have to worry about that anymore. 

“Varian,” she whispers, placing both hands on his cheeks. He leans into her touch, a touch that Quirin now doesn’t watch with envy, but with awe. How strong his boy is, able to suffer so much and yet still find joy in positive touch, in the loving (true, actual love) arms of a friend. Not just any friend, a friend who _knows_ , not just what had happened, but who knows what it is like, to be abused for your gifts, to have someone prey on the weak and dangle false adoration in their faces, using their power and influence to hurt and destroy. 

She leans in close, so close Quirin almost doesn’t hear it, but he doesn’t need to hear to know what she is saying. “He’s dead.”

Varian’s eyes search hers, confused, but not frightened. “What…? When? How?” 

“The guards found him dead last night. I’m not sure how, the Captain won’t say.” Her eyes bore into him, as warm and intense and blinding as the sun she embodies. “He can’t ever hurt you again.” They rest their foreheads together, a sign of comradery, a sign of hope for a brighter future. Varian lets out a shaky sob, fingers imperceptibly tightening on the princess’s sleeves, but neither seem to care. 

If Quirin had any regrets before, they evaporate into the air, mist swirling his mind in a sense of peace and righteousness as strong as the steel of his sword. 

After a moment, they separate, Varian’s eyes shimmering with unshed tears, but smiling brighter than Quirin has seen since they’d been reunited. Perhaps it isn’t an immediate cure, no, he couldn’t simply slay a dragon and ride off into the sunset to live happily ever after. But with the dragon gone, his flames no longer a constant threat lingering overhead, they could finally begin to rebuild, perhaps not recreate what once existed before, but create something just as beautiful. 

They part ways, with Varian promising to come back later in the week for more experiments and projects. Both father and son wave to the princess as they depart, heading down the road towards home. Quirin moves to stand in front, so that Varian could see him, only for strong, thin arms to reach around his waist in an embrace.

His soft black hair is buried into Quirin’s chest, forehead pressing against the father’s midsection to hide his face. His arms shake ever so slightly as Varian squeezes, forcing him to stop walking. For a moment, neither of them move, nor speak. Then, softly and quietly, Varian sighs into the jacket, taking in the smell and warmth and _feel_ of his father.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Quirin hesitates, unsure if this is an invitation. His son is precious, his son is small, but his son is _strong_ , so very strong, and yet in this moment Quirin feels so very weak. 

He places a hand on his son’s head, a soft ruffle, as gentle as a breath of wind. Varian leans into the touch, and doesn’t flinch when his other hand rests on his son’s back. 

And for a moment, all the angels in heaven cannot compare to the bliss Quirin feels. 

**Author's Note:**

> Not me analyzing my own fic  
> Idk I just really love writing Quirin as this father who adores his son but has no idea how to show it? So he follows Varian's example, only to realize Varian is waiting for him to do the same. At the beginning he sees his son as fragile, as being ruined by the world, but then after he and Andrew um... talk, he realizes that Varian is strong as hell for surviving and focuses his time on not following Varian's example, but seeing how Varian responds to certain things and acting accordingly. He's a good dad :)
> 
> The intent of the fucked up stuff was to show why Varian was acting the way he was (avoiding men and crowds, fear of being left alone but also wanting to be alone, etc). He is a victim but he is not helpless. He is recovering.


End file.
